


Hold On, Hold Up

by TeaForRogue



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind Date, Hostage Situations, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Voltron Crew never Went to Space, aka the blind date gone horribly wrong that no one asked for but hopefully someone can enjoy, but somehow it works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 22:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15471252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaForRogue/pseuds/TeaForRogue
Summary: Shiro's first date in years just had to be ruined by a robbery, didn't it?





	Hold On, Hold Up

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still reeling from Season Six and this is how I cope
> 
> *Please mind tags -- this whole fic revolves around a hostage situation and gun violence is mentioned

As far as first dates went, this one wasn’t so bad. Shiro had shown up a full thirty minutes early and looked -- to quote Pidge -- ‘delectable’. The restaurant she had pointed him to was snuggled downtown and pricier than most, so he begrudgingly matched the vibe with a black button-down and dark denim pants. By the time Shiro left the house atop his bike and started to weave through traffic fast enough to reduce the outside world to simplified streaks of color and sound, he felt some semblance of normalcy.

Didn’t change the fact this was his first date since deployment and all he could manage to feel was a dull numbness.

Dragging himself back to the present, Shiro spared another look around _Altea_. Everywhere he looked, there were happy couples, smiling, laughing, and completely oblivious to Shiro’s steeping boredom. He shifted a bit deeper into his seat, glad his scars were at least partially hidden in the low mood-lighting, and prayed silently that his date just wouldn’t show so he could eat quickly and slink home.

Which reminded him why he was in this situation in the first place … Pidge Holt.  _It’ll be good to get out,_ Pidge had said. _And I’m tired of your mopey ass. So, just go along with this the one time._

Faced with the chance that she might hijack his arm into making rude gestures for a week straight, Shiro had bit back his protest and given a stiff smile in complacency. He knew her concern was coming from a good place but it still felt like a kick in the teeth.

Like they all felt bad for poor, _broken_ Shiro.

He could find a date _perfectly_ fine. The lie sat heavy on his tongue and Shiro grumbled to himself at the sour taste. The clatter of patrons around him was enough to prompt Shiro to tentatively check his phone again; the clock’s numbers illuminated, taunting him.

Maybe his date was just as nervous.

Maybe that’s why he was twenty minutes late.

Dull numbness was replaced by a slow bleed of anxiety, minor annoyance, and disappointment by the time Shiro shoved himself out of his booth, eyes trained on the bar and the row of colorful alcoholic bottles that whispered his name. They didn’t have anything better than watered-down beer at the base, so it took Shiro a hot minute to wrap his tongue around a recognizable drink name. “Uh…”

“Take your time, buddy.” The bartender gave him a once-over and flashed him a surprisingly genuine smile. It was enough to give Shiro the courage to cut the shit and ask for a recommendation.

He was deciding between a Fuzzy Navel or a Rum and Coke when the first shots rang out.

The immediate buzzing in his ears was almost loud enough to drown out the following screams, but not quite. Where instinct was telling him to drop to the floor, training told him to turn and access the situation. Conflicting instructions left Shiro shell-shocked.

“To the front, everyone!” The center figure held his semi AR 15 high in the air with an air of ugly confidence, then started to wave it at the cowering patrons. “Come on, I don’t have all day. Nice and quiet and no one gets hurt.”

Shiro no longer felt conflicted. He swallowed down his anger and instead dove behind the solid cherry wood of the bar. His right arm fumbled underneath the ledge until it caught on the unmistakable dome shape of a Panic button. It snapped alive with a dull red light and blinked once, twice, before turning off again. With help on the way, Shiro sought for more immediate action. He reached into the dark once more for anything to use as a weapon, be it bottle or something else -- pausing in his search only when he felt a tap on his back.

Instinct didn't fail him this time. Shiro whipped his elbow back to throw a punch, only to falter at the sight of violet irises. The otherworldly gaze pinned him where he pressed against the wood and left him breathless. “Friend or foe?” Shiro’s whisper earned him a disapproving growl and a fist yanked into the collar of his shirt. There wasn’t much room to hide under the bar, especially for two men their size, so they’d need to relocate fast or risk getting discovered.

They pressed close, and even though the other man had never answered Shiro’s question, he knew immediately that this was just another patron in the wrong place, wrong time. He looked close to Shiro’s age and was clearly dressed for a night out -- unruly jet black hair just barely dusting against the red bomber jacket slung over his shoulders, white undershirt, dark jeans that looked like they’d been to hell and back. Shiro could almost smell the motor oil on him, wondered briefly what kind of bike he had sitting in the parking lot.

Maybe he stared for too long, because Shiro soon had his jaw forcibly turned to face nearest kitchen door by the stranger’s hand. Shiro vehemently shook his head, only to have his jaw released and his bulk shoved aside as the other man slunk to the edge of their hiding spot.

 Shiro flicked his gaze towards the edge of the bar. There was too much distance -- they'd easily be spotted. Were they seriously about to do this?

Another tap on his thigh alerted Shiro to a change of plan. The kitchen doors were just starting to swing open, with one of the hostiles leading the staff out into the fray. It was their only chance, or at least the stranger thought so. He grabbed Shiro’s wrist and dragged him forward. As quiet as death and with their hearts in their throats, the two slid through the closing gap into the safety of the kitchen.

When the dust settled, and Shiro felt confident in taking a breath, he blurted, “I called 911. The police are on their way.” The statement was enough to make the stranger remove his hand from Shiro’s wrist.

“Yeah, no shit.” A detective’s badge labelled ‘Keith Kogane: Blade of Marmora Special Ops’ was flashed at Shiro underneath the red jacket of the stranger, and he felt a wash of relief. “...it’s good you called. If there’s anyone else in there with a badge or experience, they’re not volunteering.”

“I’m Shiro. Former Air Force pilot.” The word _Lieutenant_ died on his lips between clipped phrases. “Let me help.”

“Absolutely not.” Shiro wasn't even spared a second look at the notion. “I already have a hundred twenty hostages out there, so I can’t afford one more. You stay _here_ ,” Keith hissed, jerking his thumb down, “and _out of the way._ ”

“Look, I’m not going to argue with you. But if it’s you against six hostiles, you won’t stand a chance.”

The number Shiro threw out made Keith blink. “How many exits are there?”

Shiro didn’t even have to think; the stats poured out of him. “Two in the front, four through the kitchen, another if you count the fire ladder on the west wing. The windows are bullet-proof, they won’t be viable for quick anything, and no, you don’t have a hundred and twenty hostages, you have closer to a hundred and forty if you count the staff.”

“Shit, man. Former Air Force?” Now wasn’t the time to be impressed, but Shiro preened a little under the newfound respect in Keith’s violet eyes. “Whatever, fine. You follow me and keep those eyes peeled.” With one last look through the sliver between the doors, they returned to the kitchen.

Shiro was handed a taser. He remembered seeing the vague shape of it in Keith’s back pocket, but still feigned innocence when it was pressed into his palm. Now armed, they flanked the left kitchen exit and surveyed the main room through the glass planes.

Six hostiles stood in the center of the circle of hostages -- they had crowded them back into their booths. It was risky, to be surrounded from all sides, but no one looked ready to put up a fight. That meant the only bullets that were fired thus far where the warning shots earlier. Which…

“They’re just waiting.” Shiro said.

“Check the exits you listed.” A whisper next to him. Shiro turned his gaze back to Keith and gave a small nod. By the time he had ensured there was no getaway car waiting to pounce, Keith had already set up a small earpiece and was listing out information to the other end. He gave Shiro a small thumbs up when the familiar sight of blue and red lights started to shift through the front windows of the restaurant.

Help had arrived.

“Now what?” Shiro saddled back against the door and peeked outside. The hostiles were getting shifty, demanding to know who called the cops. It was hard to tell through the masks they wore, but Shiro knew panic was engulfing them. Which... wasn’t necessarily a good development. “They still have the upper hand and all we’re doing is riling them up.”

“Take another look.”

Another look meant noticing one heart-shattering discrepancy in their hostiles. “Only one of them has a clip.”

“The fuckers aren’t even armed. They take us for a bunch of idiots, waving around empty guns. Did the big one go through a whole clip?”

When Shiro didn’t answer fast enough, Keith grunted with impatience and kicked his leg. “...no. Maybe half, and all that was into the ceiling. We can’t rush if he still has anything in there.”

When there was no response, Shiro finally had to tear his gaze away. Keith was obviously working through something from the way his forehead was furrowed. Before he could say anything, though, his earpiece clicked to life, “Kogane, give me your status.”

Keith clicked his tongue and hurriedly adjusted the sound until it was barely a whisper Shiro could hear. “Six hostiles. One has a AR 15 semi, the rest are holding empty toys. Don’t know if they are scared of using ammo or if they forgot it at home. Everyone is safe...for now.” With a flick up at Shiro, he hesitantly added, “Got a former Air Force guy here helping me.” He paused, asking softly, “Give me good news, Coran.”

“Well, the good news is that I can’t reach through this earpiece and strangle you for bringing a civilian into the fight --” Keith rolled his eyes, and Shiro meekly shrugged “--but also, we’re checking into that fire escape. We should have contact in five.”

Both men turned their gazes up to the ceiling, waiting for the tell-tale clack of feet on the upper floor. Nothing. “Uh, Coran?”

The earpiece cleared it’s throat awkwardly. “...we are getting confirmation there is a putty bomb on the door handle. It’s a no go, not for another varga. We’d have to get our bomb squad in.” Shiro went white as he tried not to remember how had he shook the handle of that locked door just two minutes back. Whoops.

“Shit.” Keith seemed to understand well enough what their chief meant by a _varga_ , his sour mood giving Shiro a rough idea. “We going through with their demands, then?”

“Keep that head straight, Kogane, and give me a few ticks to talk to our negotiator. In the meantime, please enjoy these soothing whale songs!” The earpiece clicked to silence so fast Shiro was convinced Keith had broken it. He managed to kill the laugh bubbling in his throat, but not before Keith gave an answering snort of amusement.

\---

As far as first dates went, this wasn’t the worst Keith had ever had. He tried to keep telling himself that as he adjusted the settings of his taser and tossed it from palm to palm with impatience. “Talk to me, buddy, you’re quiet.”

His Former Air Force Pilot companion -- Shiro, right? --had grown quiet after that bit of news from Coran. Keith slammed up the clip of his gun hard enough to shake the other man from his thoughts.  
  
“I’m guessing a varga is a long time.”

“An hour, give or take.” Too long, in these situations.

“We really can’t wait that long.”

Keith spread out his arms in indecision. “What, you got a hot date? I need to keep these people alive, not help you achieve some hero’s dream. We prep here until I get word to act otherwise.” The words bit, and Keith felt the brief sting of guilt settle in his stomach when Shiro shrank back. Guilt didn’t last long -- Shiro just came back twice as hard.

“I have an idea, but it’s--”

“Unwelcome!” Keith cut him off with a snarl. “I agreed to let you help, not do my job!” If there was anything left to say, it died in Keith’s throat. One of the hostiles had glanced to the kitchen doors. Both men slapped against the floor and willed themselves to stop breathing. Their gazes met across the room, and Keith gave Shiro a brief nod in affirmation.

The door opposite to Keith slowly opened.

One foot slid through the entry, then the other, until the hostile was beyond the doors and staring into the kitchen. As soon as the doors clicked together in closing, Shiro hit him in the middle of his back with the brunt of his elbow and sent him toppling. He crumpled to the ground and struggled just long enough for Shiro to perch on his back and wrap him into a headlock. The hostile slumped limp on the floor in seconds. It was hard enough to breathe through that mask, much less when someone was actively trying to cut off your air supply. Shiro flexed his chokehold once more for good measure before spreading the hostile out on the tiles.

He glanced up to Keith staring in slight awe and felt his body surge with warmth.

“Holy shit.” Keith didn’t even have time to register the mask getting thrown to him -- he caught it with a snap and stared down. “Uh…”

“How are _you_ in hand-to-hand combat?”

The smile that spread on Keith’s face was probably too telling.

\--- 

The hostiles didn’t look up until Keith came swaggering out -- surprise painted their expressions to see him leading Shiro out of the kitchen. “Nice catch, man. Must have been the one to call the pigs.” Keith gave a non-committed shrug at the praise and shoved his ‘catch’ into the rest of the hostages. He winced just slightly when he heard Shiro’s head bounce off the wood of the bar and the soft curse he spat out.

Whatever, apologies would be for later.

The leader only took one punch to the nose before he fell. He smashed to the ground, nose broken and bloodied, and the rest of the hostiles scrambled. Keith shook the blood from his knuckles and scrambled to grab the AR 15 while the hostages started to scream, but the other goons were too confused by the situation to even pretend to threaten harm with their empty guns. Shiro rose from the circle of hostages and joined the chaos. He grabbed the closest one and flung him halfway across the room, thrilled when he bounced off one of the tables like a skipping stone. He felt the heat of Keith as found his way to Shiro, and they pressed back to back. Four hostiles left.

Then they separated, and raised hell.

Oddly enough, it felt as if they had been fighting as partners their entire lives. Keith faltered only once, and Shiro was there in an instant to fill the empty space. He didn’t even see the punch, just heard the crunch of bone and felt someone tugging him to his feet. “You good?”

“Shove off, rookie.” Keith spat out a bit of blood and jumped back into the fray, unfazed.

Since the last hostile surrendered himself, Keith allowed Shiro the honor of handcuffing him. They slapped a high-five, standing in a circle of downed hostiles, breathing hard, sweating, and with eyes only for one another.

They glanced away when the cheers started.

Finally outside and surrounded by spinning police lights, Keith remembered to breathe. He saw a few familiar faces swirled in the crowd, but couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge the residue chaos of the scene, or the faint murmurs of praise aimed his way.

A steadying hand rested on his shoulder, and Keith looked up to a thousand-watt smile. Oh.

“How’d I do, Kogane?” Keith thrilled a bit to hear his name, wondering how….oh, right. Coran.

He gave a dismissive shrug and looked away, willing a bored expression to his face. He mourned the moment the hand dropped from his shoulder. “You kidding? We could have been killed ten times over.”

“But we weren’t.” Shiro’s unhelpful comment, paired with that hopeless smile, was enough to make Keith smile back. “Though….” He glanced down to his watch, smile morphing into a tight frown. “If my date ever bothered to show up, I really doubt he’s in the mood now.”

“Whoa, you actually did have a hot date.” Keith gave a low whistle that the other man squirmed to. “No wonder you were so impatient.”

“Shut up.” Shiro said it with no heat in his voice, but a faint blush dusted his cheeks anyway. He cleared his throat and extended his hand to Keith. “Anyway, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

That was only fair. Keith rolled his eyes but took the extended hand, giving it a firm shake in greeting. “I’m Keith Kogane. Detective for the Blade of Marmora.”

“Nice to meet you, Keith,” Shiro smiled genuinely, and said, “I’m Takahashi Shirogane, former Air Force.”

There was probably more to be said and shared, but the growing fanfare was drawing out people even Shiro knew. A familiar head of dusty blonde bobbed through the crowd and Shiro couldn’t help but gasp in recognition. “Pidge!”

“Pidge? You know Bomb Squad Pidge Holt?” Keith tried to squint into the crowd and follow Shiro’s gaze, but the blaze of lights made it too difficult to pinpoint anything.

“Sure, she’s a good friend of mine.” Surprise colored Shiro’s tone as well. “...You know her?”

“Of course I do! She has the second best job on the task force.”

“Um,” Pidge sneered up at Keith as she approached, “I think you mean _the_ best. Because that little putty bomb Coran was shivering over was just a glowing dollarstore light stuck in some gum and I still get paid the same as if I had actually had to diffuse something.” 

Shiro and Keith murmured their dry congrats while she gave them another look over. “Glad to see you two found each other in the madness. I was worried with everything that the date was going to be a mess and I was going to have to buy you both steak dinners to apologize.” The blank look she received made her slowly draw out, “You know….the date?”

Cold realization trailed down their backs at the same time.

“I--"

“He’s--”

“Oh come on, really?” Pidge snorted with amazement as the two shared a confused pause. “Table 6? No? ...Nothing?”

“Wait, that bomb was a fake too?”

Both Pidge and Keith dragged their disbelieving gazes to Shiro. “Really. That’s what you’re concerned about right now?”

“The more I think about this holdup the more I think it’s--”

Keith caught onto the trail Shiro was leading and finished, “--it’s a diversion! But for…” All three of them looked up just in time to hear the alarms of the bank next door start to blare in a loud, whining pitch. Keith knew he shouldn’t smile, but he found himself smiling anyway. “Bingo.”

“Yeah, yeah, cool shit -- we need to go!” Pidge was scrambling back to the patrol cars in a hurry, not one to miss a lick of action. Keith almost followed immediately after, but first he grabbed Shiro’s arm and hiked up his sleeve, losing a few buttons in the process.

“Keith, what are you..!”

With a grunt, Keith pulled out a marker from his pocket and scribbled his phone number on Shiro’s arm in big, red lettering. The sight of it stole the breath from Shiro’s lungs, but then Keith’s hand moved upward to grab his shirt collar, and he was pulled down for a messy, quick kiss on the lips.

There was barely any time to return the kiss before Keith was scrambling back into a waiting patrol car. That smug smile on Keith was damn infectious, but Shiro could only stammer and blush from the effect the kiss had on him, rooted like an idiot in the empty parking lot.

“Call me!” It was a demand, not a request, and then Keith was gone.

Shiro stood with his hands hovering where Keith’s hips had been, awkwardly fighting for breath until he realized people were staring. “Yeah, uh….yeah.” As far as dates went, this was pretty fantastic.

Until Shiro looked down at the number scrawled on his arm and realized Keith’s chicken scratch was fucking illegible.


End file.
